


the world is nothing but endings

by sodastreams



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Damian Wayne is Robin, Dick Grayson is Batman, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Replacements, dick gives robin to damian, kind of, little to no dialogue, no editing we die like men, probs ooc, tim is sad and bitter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-23 15:19:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19704061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sodastreams/pseuds/sodastreams
Summary: Tim shakes his head and jumps, existing as a silent shadow that breathes justbecause.





	the world is nothing but endings

**I.**

Standing in the white kitchen, Tim chokes down ashy, chalky pills. Fingers fumble with the capsule lid as he twists it back into place, placing the container back into the cabinet. The kitchen’s clean. Everything’s put into its place, every space filled and organized. The fridge is barren, save for the few packets of string cheese and boxes of fruit, coupled with bottles of water. 

Last night’s patrol was uneventful. He scoured the rooftops with relative ease, fought, came home, and popped open his laptop. Tim managed to get an hour or two of sleep. He didn’t sweat it. It wasn’t too important, anyway. He knew how to push his limits — though, he wasn’t sure if he really set any to begin with.

Didn’t matter, really. 

He’s Red Robin ( _it still leaves a bitter taste in his mouth_ ) and he’s also Tim Drake. One mattered more than the other ( _Tim Drake could be replaced with the flick of a wrist, Red Robin was engraved into stone_ ) and that’s how it was. 

Robin feels like a fever dream. It probably isn’t a stretch. He doesn’t hate Dick or Damian, he can’t. Tim doesn’t even know how he’s supposed to feel – he’s bitter, but that’s to be expected, right? 

( _Even though when he was Robin, he was filling in the role of the moral pet. He was in Dick Grayson’s shadow, and he spoke with Jason Todd’s echo._ )

It never really even belonged to him. Robin had belonged to Dick, Jason, and Damian. He felt the echoes of their footfalls and words and he could never hear or feel his own. Maybe he’s insane, for holding onto something that wasn’t even there in the first place. 

(“Replacement,” _Jason sneers with acid on his tongue._

 _Tim looks at him and sighs,_ “Yeah, I know.”)

Damian needs this, right? Dick said so. The Golden Boy gave his blessing and smote Tim out of existence with the grace of an angel. It’s the Grayson charm, he guesses.

He’s always been shadowed by them. Tim would watch the ghost of two Robins haunt Bruce’s dark eyes, but he never seemed to haunt Bruce as they did. He was – is – an afterthought. 

Does it even matter now? No, probably not. ( _It does, it will, forever and ever and ever._ ) 

Maybe Tim’s a poltergeist, in his own right.

**II.**

Clad in black and red, Red Robin watches Gotham from above. 

He’s avoided Batman and Robin. Smooth enough to shift out of their way, grappling off in the opposite directions – basically, acting like a 2nd grader. It’s funny, to him. In a sad, pathetic way. The air is crisp and cool against his skin, even though it’s heavily laden with pollution. It’s apart of the city’s wicked charm, at this point. 

“This place is ugly,” he lowly mutters, throwing his head back to gaze at the dark sky above him. 

It’s sort of cloudy, with a chance of a full moon. He won’t see it. Maybe Damian and Dick – Batman and Robin – will. A pang kicks him in the chest when he imagines the two sitting on the edge of Wayne Enterprises, watching the starless sky together, as the _dynamic duo._

Makes him bitter, chewed up and spit out. 

Suddenly, Tim doesn’t like standing here, watching the Gotham lights illuminate above. He grimaces and reaches for his grappling gun. For a moment, he wonders if Dick regrets ripping Tim’s skin off, revealing his beating heart to the chilly air of resignation.

Tim shakes his head and jumps, existing as a silent shadow that breathes just _because._

**+**

Jason’s heard about the new kid. The new Robin, the improved neon traffic light glued to the black death’s side. This means that his replacement’s been tossed out like garbage, and while he’s supposed to laugh, he feels hollow.

It’s fucking annoying, giving a damn about the kid who took everything from him. And yet here he is, wondering how his pretender took it. 

Jason pours some coffee and mulls over the irony of it all. 

_Batman needs a Robin._

Tim said that. Too many goddamn times, matter-of-fact. Yeah, Batman needs a Robin, but he could also use a reality check, too. Of course, Jason knew Dick was pulling the reigns now, but it made him feel a little unnerved about how much like Bruce he was.

Dick should know what it’s like to be replaced. Jason wouldn’t forget the harsh words that had been sneered at him – how shitty he was over the years, slowly starting to get better and then – boom. Jason died. Sucks to suck. 

And yet... Dick went and threw Tim into the hell that is being replaced. Jason hates it. Really, Tim was a good Robin, and the fact that he got ditched for a genocidal toddler... didn’t sit well with him. 

Bruce being dead was also a... thing. It made him feel... different. On one hand, maybe he’d get tossed into the Lazarus pit and come back with his logic fried more than usual. On another, he’s really fucking dead, and that scares Jason. When Jason first heard the news, hollow triumph morphed into something akin to despair, which became rage and regret. 

He regrets breaking olive branches with his bare hands, if only for a second.

It’s all hopeless, really. Even Batman dies. Even Robins of the present get thrown away like garbage. It’s all a fucked little secret that everyone hides away deep in their hearts.

He’s all over the place. Between getting cut by Dick’s ability to morph into Bruce and the gremlin dressed as Robin, Jason’s fucking tired. All he can do now is remember. Remember the time where Robin, no matter who he was, smiled and felt a timeless sort of magic. 

Remembers death in all its forms, sneering as the countdown of a bomb ticked, waving goodbye to a boy who never existed, to begin with, the weight of a knife against Tim’s pale skin, drawing lines of blood that seemed to pour forever.

Jason wonders if when Tim dies, his grave will be dug somewhere next to his own, the same words on stone. _’A good soldier.’_

His coffee’s cold.

**Author's Note:**

> ...i might re—write this someday bc it prolly doesn’t look too good, but i like it how it is rn
> 
> also i tried a new formatting + kind of diff writing style w this one,,, plus i had no lclue how to write jason let me die in peace........  
> also the title is from the book salt by nayyirah waheed! check it out  
> ty for reading!


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